An Epiphany Revived
by FencerPhan
Summary: Erik has been damned with a new fate to wander alone. But his soul will not rest until his heart finally captures what is truly his. Based on the book and musical, and NOT the movie.
1. An Epiphany Revived

His fate could never be any crueler from the moment of his own conception.

His fate had set him apart from normal, mortal men. He was never meant to be one of their kind, no, not horrible ugly Erik. Erik, the maniacal, compassionate genius was never meant to be one of those swine. Those stupid insensitive pigs; like blinded sheep they immediately pounce on those who are not of their flock. Beauty was indeed a necessity in society. Genius and compassion were lovely qualities as well, but not so oft beguiled in the shadow of beauty's sheen. Erik, lacking this crucial quality had been paid recompense with his brilliant capacity for intelligence in all fields of learning; music being his forte. And his ugly, wretched heart that many humans had wished upon their lives to stop beating, so to spare Erik the burden of living with his cursed ugliness, had an enormous capacity for love and compassion. It was one of the things that made him, in his very essence, human. But these things are also what separated him from the rest of humankind.

These extraordinary features would have made him most desired amongst all men. But no, not Erik. He had been damned to live with a fate worse than death or physical pain and suffering. Why should he be so much as to be as well endowed as a god when he himself was a mere human mortal? No, he should be as wretched as a monstrous demon from hell. It simply would not do have him god or man, he must be a monster.

And what was he now? _More than a nightmare._ It seems that God had a perverse sense of humor. Torturing Erik's soul throughout the worthless years of his insignificant life and denying him the love he had fought so hard to deserve wasn't enough. There would be no release from the pain that dwelled within his heart. There was no hope for release through death. Never any release for Erik.

Erik watched the flames flicker, casting their amber reflections amongst the hearth bricks, and illuminating the walls of his study. How strange fire was, how it consumes all within its path without prejudice. How it enlightens its surroundings and burns its energy in frenetic, passionate flames, escaping into its own desiring heat. The flames consume all, as does love and hatred. They blacken the heart, mind, and soul, as do the flames blacken the logs in the fireplace. They ravish their victims violently, leaving behind scarred and ashen remains, _lifeless, _never to be perfect ever again. Erik silently reflected for a moment. He had always imagined that he would willingly go to a grave with anger in his heart, and vengeance in his soul for a love that refuses to die. Perhaps his soul would have been restless enough to be denied peace in the afterlife, and he would forever remain entrapped in this earth, this time as a _true ghost_. And he would haunt Christine with his soul, no longer with his body, forever, or at least until the day she consented to love him in death and share with him what Lucifer had condemned and God had forbidden during their lifetimes. Yes, then he would be at peace. He was looking forward to becoming a ghost.

But for one to become an entrapped, lifeless soul upon this earth, one must first die. And Erik could not. He must live forever damned with a curse. A curse fitting for a murderer and deceiver as him it seemed, Erik may as well welcome it as a blessing. For a moment Erik mused, if God so condemned murder, why did he create such creatures to wallow in blood? It all seemed ironically amusing, that god place eternity in the hands of those he damned for their pleasure in bloodthirst. But eternity could never sate him, unless he had Christine at his side. He admitted to himself that he never wanted a dead, ghostly Christine for a bride. He wanted Christine, all of her, especially her body. And if he couldn't have her in life, he would have her in her living death. Erik had all eternity to pursue his love; Christine did not have all eternity to live.

Yes, Erik had all eternity to seduce her back to his arms, to his bed. There was nothing left for him to lose. There was no hope for death; she could not hope to ever ward him off with frantic cries for mercy or expensive guards from her de Chagny estate. Yes, he would make her love him, and he would call her back to him. Erik would consume her soul and take her heart, just as she had involuntarily done to his own.

Fate no longer controlled Erik, for Eternity was now on his side. And Christine's destiny be damned. It was time for Erik to use his immortality to take things into his own hands for once. It was his turn to be wickedly cruel.


	2. Reflections

Madame Christine Vicomtess de Chagny looked outside her balcony window in her bedroom suite. It was past midnight, and guests were still busy socializing and gossiping amongst one another down below in the courtyard. Christine watched them from her bedroom window; the shimmering sequins on the aristocratic women's gowns sparkling in the moonlight as their powdered faces blushed and scoffed behind silken fans giggling away giddily, the slight vibrations causing their elegant hairstyles to fall out of their tightly wound pins. And the all-too-drunken men with their reddened faces, the source of the women's laughter of course, cosseting with their tight cravats and pulling at the sleeves of their tailcoats, and all too mindful of their luxuriously expensive opal cufflinks, as so to avoid minor atrocities of scratches upon their delicate surfaces! Indeed, the night would always be young to them, as long as Raoul's supply of fine Bordeaux red wine never ran out. Lest the world come to an end once their alcohol-induced euphoria run out.

Christine's husband's friends never ceased to amuse her. Their less-than-clever attempts to flagrantly show off their wealth at every possible opportunity were quite laughable for their complete lack of tactfulness, and envy always lingered in the stiff air whenever two or more of the same arrogance came into contact with each other; a common event with the abundant social galas and balls that noblemen were required to attend. But what did cease to amuse her was this fairytale life that Christine was so suddenly forced into once she took Raoul's hand and left the opera for good. It was rapidly turning into a horrible nightmare; one filled with endless social gatherings with fake, airheaded people with money and titles. It was absolutely necessary that she attend such events, being Raoul's wife. Why, she was the envy of France! She had married one of the world's most handsome, eligible bachelors with a large sum of money as well. Undoubtedly, she would have to appear happy and content with being Raoul's prized gem. Or at least, make things appear to people as though they were, even though most scandalous but false gossip that things were not well between the happy de Chagny couple threatened to tear them apart. Oh how these people were vicious!

With a sigh, Christine kicked off her expensive satin shoes and stretched. She honestly didn't mind or even care about the gossip about her and Raoul; it was almost half true, no matter how much the rest of the de Chagny family condemn such talk about their precious boy and his beautiful wife as utter, vile lies. Christine wouldn't even be surprised if it were Raoul's relatives themselves spreading such tales. They had never approved of her. Sure she was a pretty young woman who appeared shy but charming, but she was also a commoner unworthy of the de Chagny name. And with such a sensationalized scandal that came with her celebrity as an opera diva, she was most certainly not worth Raoul's saving her life from a deranged lunatic. It was bad enough to them that he had gotten his hands filthy in the process of rescuing Christine from Erik's lair, nevermind the fact that he nearly died! Her marriage to Raoul would only be detrimental to the proud de Chagny estate, but despite their bitter tirades and protests, Raoul argued that no other woman could capture his heart like Christine. She was undoubtedly the kindest, gentlest woman in all of Paris. And they had been childhood friends. The circumstances between their relationship were far from Raoul picking up a common chit off the streets. But it would always still remain the same to the proud de Chagny family.

Then Christine reflected for a moment; were things really destined to remain this way in this new chapter of her life? Would she just remain a bauble in the de Chagny family tree? She had once thought that all her hopes and dreams would come true once her new life with Raoul began, only to find that they were silently crushed by rules of propriety set by the aristocratic society she had now unwillingly become a part of. Christine had often thought of what her life would be like with her fallen angel. Erik undoubtedly was a madman, a deformed freak of cruel nature with a genius capable of horrible sins and a heart full of love for no one but Christine and his music. Yes he was mad and committed unspeakable crimes, but all in the name of love for his beloved Christine. He who had been shunned for so long from the rest of humanity had chosen such a simple, naïve girl to give the voice of angel and commit his heart to. Erik had chosen Christine when he was so deserving of a better woman to love him. One who would never leave him in such a cruel manner…

Christine would never obtain closure or solace from her tragic parting from Erik. All she could do is contemplate what might have been. Christine desperately needed to be comforted by talking to someone and lift the burden of her feelings from Erik that grew heavy in her heart, but to speak a name such as "Erik" or "Phantom" or "Opera Ghost" in the de Chagny estate was a taboo; one must not speak of the unspeakable past that was meant to be forgotten. Raoul had always turned a deaf ear and ignorantly smiled whenever he heard his lovely wife speak the "monster's" name, and Madame Giry, the only person who would ever understand and listen to Christine, was far too busy with her affairs at the Opera warding off the Parisian newspaper reporters who were constantly bothering the staff for more scandalous trash on the Opera Ghost's affair with Christine Daae to write about in their dirty publications; obviously the sort that Raoul's guests were so fond of taking their sinful rumors from.

Christine heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs from where she sat by her window. She had no doubt in her mind that it was her worried husband coming to check on her, and indeed she was right. With a soft knock and a slight creaking noise, Raoul opened the door and popped his handsome blond-haired head in to look around.

"Christine?" he asked softly. Regaining her composure, Christine hastily responded, "Yes my love, I am here. Please come inside."

Taking her invitation to enter the bedroom, Raoul stepped inside and walked toward where Christine was sitting to kneel beside her. His face was flushed, his collar was unbuttoned, and his cravat was untied. Raoul turned away and murmured "My, is it hot in this room," while closing the door softly, and then turned around and beamed at his wife.

"Ah my wonderful Little Lotte, I had thought you had run off away from me again. The party outside isn't quite yet over, and your guests already miss their _beautiful _hostess. Won't you do me the favor of rejoining me outside?" Raoul outstretched his arm, but Christine feigned a yawn and declined to take it.

"No, thank you Raoul, but I- '_yawn'_, think I shall retire early for the night. It is past twelve midnight, and I can feel the effects of our tiring but exciting night beginning to lull me to sleep. You wouldn't want a half-awake wife to fall dead asleep into the bushes outside in front of all your guests, now would you?"

Raoul laughed and smiled affectionately at his wife's adorable sense of humor, and brushed back a lock of Christine's dark curls from her face. "No Christine, I indeed would never want that. Think of the poor bushes!" Raoul cupped her face with his outstretched hand. "It's quite alright Christine, you do seem very tired and I think it is best that you get your beauty rest. I was on my way to the wine cellars downstairs to grab another bottle of whatever's left of our dwindling supply of _Pinot Noir._ We must keep the guests entertained somehow, and since I can't have my sleepy wife sing an aria for them, fine wine should keep their spirits up instead." Christine smiled and Raoul quickly gave Christine a chaste kiss. He whispered in her ear "You go to sleep now dearest, I shall rejoin you in bed later tonight." Raoul then turned to face the mirror as he fixed his shirt and hair and lowered the light from the kerosene lamp on Christine's dresser. With a final murmur of "Goodnight Christine." he walked out of their bedroom and closed the door.


	3. A Chest of Old Age

Erik stared at the elegant clock standing atop his mantel. It was thirty minutes past twelve midnight, and already the flames in his fireplace were beginning to burn themselves out. With a sigh, Erik rose from his armchair and turned to light the candles by his majestic pipe organ. He needed music to uplift his forlorn senses, and he needed it tonight. Slowly he approached his beloved instrument and caressed the ivory and ebony keys, Erik could not recount the many times he had entrusted his soul to his organ in the form of melody. But now that his soul was dead and parted, would his keyboard betray him? His cherished pipe organ had failed him not, as flawless music flowed from the remnants of what was left his soul to his fingertips in smooth, undulating strokes. Erik closed his eyes and let his subconscious mind wander; lost in the depths of melancholy ecstasy that was his song. But still, it was not enough.

His mind had drifted further than he would have wished, to the years of his childhood as an unloved invalid, to being a horrible spectacle for the perverted masses of Europe, his near rape by that disgusting monster Javert, to that little wretch Luciana. He thought of the only fatherly figure he ever knew, and his tragic escape to Ninji-Novrogood, only to be led to Persia where forbidden pleasantries of harem women waited to mock him. As Erik continued to involuntarily reflect upon his past, he remembered the countless murders he committed, and the blood he was obligated to shed in order to get this far. It seemed though that no experience would ever be as exhilarating to Erik as building the Paris Opera, and yes undoubtedly he remembered all the fellow contractors who stood in his way of him obtaining the rights to such a virtuous task that he simply had to strangle. Erik _always_ got what he wanted, from the days as a bratty, unloved child to a murderous architect. And nothing would ever stop him from the most breathtaking experience of laying the founding bricks to his beloved home, and overseeing its development in beauty, and listening to Christine triumph upon the opera stage…

Erik suddenly hit a discordant note and abruptly discontinued playing his melody. Damn these unwanted memories! He mustn't think of her, not now. Although it seemed to be far from the truth, Christine was not the most important change in his life. So much more has happened afterwards, hasn't it Erik?

And as much as he loathed admitting it, it was the truth.

It was true; it was true! All of it was true! Erik felt a sharp pang of pain and regret in the pit of his stomach; Christine was no longer the greatest sin in his life. When she left him, he was sure that he would die. There was no reason to endure life unhappily without her. And if God wasn't merciful enough to simply let him die of a shattered, broken heart, he would commit enough murderous sins without remorse until He saw it fit to simply strike him down in a furious blaze. Or he would commit the blackest, most forbidden yet most commonly committed sin and take his own life. Yes, all devout Catholic Christians noted suicide as the one darkest mortal sin without hope of redemption or forgiveness. But Erik now knew that there was one sin much greater in magnitude than the murder of one's own self, a sin so dark that most mortals are not aware of its existence. He had been one of the very few to commit such an act in the history of mankind, and Erik had done so soon after his tragic parting with Christine. And not even God himself would know.

No one would know of Erik's sin, save for three people; himself, Nadir, and a man whose face he swore to never wish to see his face again, lest they were both rotting in hell. And where was Nadir tonight! He should have been here by now. Erik's friend usually visited the lair with advance shipments ahead of schedule; he took Erik's violent cravings as a precaution. Nadir didn't want to see how far Erik would go to satisfy himself. He, nor Erik himself, knew how far Erik's capabilities could extend. And neither man wished to ever live to see the day where they would find out.

Erik felt another sharp pain that hit him instantly. He knew distinctly what it was. It was his hunger pains. And if his trusted friend didn't hurry soon, Erik would be forced to leave his lair. And that would be a great inconvenience to him as well as the rest of the world. Holding his stomach in an attempt to ease the pain, he collapsed into an armchair by the fire. Then suddenly Erik heard the warning buzzer that alerted him of intruders to his lair. But it wasn't an intruder trespassing on his lair. He knew exactly who it was, and he was quite unusually late for a man with his precise customary schedule. And tonight, this fact ticked Erik off to no avail.

Forty seconds later, Erik heard the familiar sounds of Nadir muttering obscenities and curses in Persian under his breath and a heavy wooden chest being scraped across the floor into his room. With a final push, Nadir dragged the large box into Erik's Louis-Phillipe room and let out a final sigh of relief. Erik had watched his every move. The years had not been so merciful to his old friend. Nadir looked up only to see Erik's glaring face staring at him coldly.

"What my friend? I have come all this way to do you a large favor out of the goodness of my heart and all you do to help me is simply sit there idly? Will you not help me with this arduous task?"

Erik tilted his head a little bit to the side, never losing his cold façade, and contemplated his friend's remarks.

"You're late." He responded coldly.

Nadir scoffed at Erik's ungrateful comment.

"My friend, my lateness was beyond my control. I am not as quick and agile as you once knew me in youth. Dragging a large, bulky chest all the way underground and rowing across a lake with the damn thing is not an easy task for a man of my age to undertake," Nadir, tired and worn out, remained silent waiting for a response from Erik. Erik continued to stare at him coldly.

"You were quicker last week."

"Well, I must offer you my fond apologies, for my health fails my efficiency."

"It's a pity then, for if you accepted my offer, you would not have had your health deteriorate to such a woeful stage."

Not wishing to prolong the subject, Nadir remained silent and pushed the heavy mahogany chest closer to Erik's chair.

"Well? You may as well open the chest and enjoy the gruesome spoils that you so desperately are in need of for survival."

Erik bent over to inspect the chest.

"It's not enough."

Nadir let out an exasperated gasp in response to his friend's statement.

"What! It's not enough? Well how many bloody supplies do you need! Believe me Erik. This was all that I could muster. Your fellow Frenchmen at the clinic don't exactly trust an ethnic foreigner entering their morgue with a wooden chest every week, regardless of whether I am occasionally employed there or not."

As Nadir panted to regain his breath, Erik simply continued to glare at his exhausted colleague and said in a grave, low voice,

"You were almost too late my friend. I was already _near the edge."_

Nadir's head shot up, and Erik could see in the faint firelight that it had nearly almost drained of color.

"May Allah forgive me! And to think what may have happened if I were minutes, or mere seconds too late! Heaven have mercy!"

Erik simply sighed and rose from his chair to slowly walk toward Nadir. After a few, slowly drawn out strides, he was standing quite close to Nadir's ear, where he whispered in a calm voice.

"You know full well what would have happened. I would have been forced to kill you upon sight and, well, _devour_ is much too savage of a word to describe what I would have become obligated to do. You would have given me no choice but to violently consume you as well as whatever supplies you brought, so you should be quite relieved that I haven't reverted to my primal, animalistic tastes and that I'm still your finicky, picky servant in gratitude to you. And then once I was finished, I would have to inconvenience myself by finding another supplier, which would indeed be quite a difficult task since Jules is surely convinced of my death. And all the useable, brainless pawns in Paris are quite wary and on the lookout of a suspicious, masked man with a taste for blood ever since those trashy lies and scandals were published in the damn newspapers! So you see, I couldn't quite ask them to commit murders for me, and the work would be left to me. And then all Hell would break loose once I became a nightly prowler on the streets of Paris, would it not?"

By the end of Erik's chillingly true speech, Nadir was nearly trembling.

"Then for God's sake Erik, replenish yourself before you kill us all!" Nadir motioned toward the chest that lay between them.

"I already made it clear to you, it's not enough. Not now. And besides, I can smell that one of your specimens is tainted."

"Tainted? But I had carefully inspected and selected the donor corpses myself. I can assure you, no one slipped any poisonous substances into your specimens, at any time."

"Right, and I have complete trust in your word. But, it seems that one of your patients died from some sort of disease, and it is still present in his blood."

Nadir scoffed. "Oh bah. It's not as if such diseases could infect you, Erik."

"Yes. But the disease is still very much alive. And we wouldn't want a living, active virus remaining stale and idle in my veins, it would be too much of a potential risk for me to pass on the disease to someone it could affect, for starters, _you._"

Nadir waved off any of Erik's attempts to scare him by gesturing quite rudely in front of his friend's face.

"But Erik, I must admit, for a nose-less man, your sense of sagacity has improved quite remarkably for you to be able to smell the scent of a virus."

Erik then lazily threw his hands into the air and smirked.

"What can I say? It's one of my newfound inhuman qualities, and I'm enjoying every moment of my unbecoming as a member of the despicable human race."

Erik then walked toward the end table next to the fireplace and poured two glasses of brandy.

"Erik, I really do suggest you get a move on with your supplies. Only God knows how much time we have left."

"God doesn't care about me, remember? He never gives me any time. He would turn me into a carnivorous, barbaric killing machine in an instant and watch me as I eliminate every member of His children, and then strike me down with a thunderbolt in respect to the great pagan god Zeus, and laugh at me as He condemns me to toil in Hell for the sins He Himself had driven me to commit. God is not a creative person Nadir. Just look at how far He brought me down to this classic path of destruction, and He hasn't done anything to '_save my so-called soul'_. Now if you'll excuse us, we should each have a drink. This brandy does wonders for the spirits of men our age."

Erik sat down in the wooden chair by the end table and lifted his glass to Nadir.

"To our health, and whatever's left of yours."

Erik took a sip of his golden elixir and sighed as he let the brief weak sensation upon his tongue take hold of his senses. He then looked toward his friend, who had remained silent and unyielding in the same spot where he stood.

"Oh come on Nadir, this decanter should look familiar to you. I had only threatened to violently smash it across your head so many times."

"And tonight's an exception?"

"Hardly. But we shall make it so if you are kind enough to join me."

Finally giving into Erik's request, Nadir sank down into the chair across his friend and raised the glass of brandy to his lips.

"Erik, please. I want you to do it now, especially while I am in your presence which may put my sake in danger."

"Relax, the sting of alcohol will sate me for now," Erik took another sip of the inviting liquor. "Besides, when on earth did you ever become so uneasy?"

"It's a stage in a man's life called old age, a horrific nightmare that unfortunately _you _won't have to experience."

Erik laughed at his friend's bitter remark.

"Ahaha, but it is still indeed a stage in a man's life where he can still enjoy a good drink," Erik gulped down the rest of the drink in one long, graceful swallow and slammed down the empty glass on the table.

"And I've also got plans for tonight for partaking in an activity that will help me remain young, at heart in the very least. I've decided to do a little bit of _hunting._"

Nadir nearly choked on his drink.

"Dear God Erik, no! No, you can't!"

"It seemed you forgotten, _Nadir,"_ Erik spat the last word. _"-_that I dislike hearing my name in the same sentence with God's, particularly when my name succeeds His. And don't bother to try to convince me to do otherwise. I won't change my mind."

"But Erik! Innocent people will die by your hand!"

"Well yes, that's the name of the game, is it not?"

Nadir began looking for excuses to make Erik stay, most importantly, under his supervision. Begging would not help. Erik did not like to see signs of weakness.

"Fine, if I can't convince you to do otherwise, at least let me come with you, Erik!"

Nadir got up out of his chair to stop Erik, who was already reaching for his hat and gloves, only to let out a sharp cry of pain that made Erik turn around instantly.

"Argh! Please-" he choked. "Don't mind me. I believe that I may have pulled a muscle while hauling that damn box. It was quite a strenuous delivery, after all." Nadir struggled to stand upright while clutching his back and sighed painfully. Damn his frailty, poor health always seemed to kick in at the most inconvenient times.

"Well then, I suppose you won't be accompanying me on my little adventurous outing tonight will you not? You seem to try my patience so very irritatingly so tonight, Nadir."

Erik threw his cape over his shoulders and crossed his arms, waiting rather impatiently for his friend, now seated in an armchair, to speak.

"Ah- no, I don't suppose I'm any condition to go exploring out in the night with a back like this. I suppose I should simply go home and rest, for that is what old men with poor health are supposed to do."

"And you are also in no condition to go home at so late an hour. You should stay here for the night, and you are more than welcome to try out my coffin. You should get used to eternity, since you are so close to meeting death."

"I suppose I can't argue with you there. I already warned Darius that I may not come home tonight; hopefully he won't take that as an ominous sign. But- be warned that I shall be waiting here to ensure your return, so do not take too long."

Erik tipped his fedora and smiled.

"And if I am not back by tomorrow morning before dawn, you have every right to run to the gendarmes and hound out the entire city of Paris for my dead lifeless body. Now I shall say good night to you for now; I must begin to take my leave. The night air awaits me." Erik turned to leave until Nadir interrupted him once more.

"Erik, please forgive me, but I must tell you that I am very uneasy with the idea of you murdering once again."

Erik turned around, and Nadir could see through the black satin mask that obscured Erik's face from view the saddest pair of eyes he had ever seen.

"Did you actually believe that I take pleasure in the idea of myself having to become a ruthless killer again, this time not by choice but by necessity? As sadistic as I may have been in my former years, I do not enjoy the idea of being forced to take innocent lives for survival, but it is beyond any moral choice at this point. It's a permanent mar on my conscience, but do not think that I am so weak to succumb to regret."

Nadir felt incredible guilt for what he had said, he should had trusted more in his friend's morality. Erik was indeed a kind and gentle soul at best, he was only very wounded by his past choices, and eternally tortured by the sins he never wanted to commit. He should have known better about his friend.

Erik then smiled once more, almost to console his friend's guilt. What Nadir had said was unintentional hurt, and Erik had forgiven him.

"You know Nadir, you don't have to die."

"Ah Erik, but it is Allah's will that permits it."

With that said, Erik once again smirked and tipped his fedora. With a swirl of his cloak, he was gone.


End file.
